


R. E. D.

by veggiesnake



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, My First Fanfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:14:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28677969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veggiesnake/pseuds/veggiesnake
Summary: Rachel Elizabeth Dare wakes up in the CHB infirmary, two days after the Battle Of Manhattan.(Or I got bored trying to find some good works about our Oracle-Queen Rachel Elizabeth Dare, so I decided to write one myself.)
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Kudos: 3





	R. E. D.

_King of Argos, fear no army, scorn every weapon,_

_For only your grandson may be your doom._

_As you have hurt your family, so you must serve your family._

_Go to your cousin Eurystheus, ten labours to perform as penance._

_Do not loosen the bulging mouth of the wineskin_

_Until you have reached the height of Athens, lest you die of grief._

_You have come to my rich temple, Lycurgus,_

_A man dear to Zeus and to all who have Olympian homes,_

_I am in doubt whether to pronounce you man or god,_

_But I think rather you are a god, Lycurgus._

_First sacrifice to the warriors who once had their home in this island,_

_Whom now the rolling plain of fair Asopia covers,_

_Laid in the tombs of heroes with their faces turned to the sunset,_

_Seat yourself now amidships, for you are the pilot of Athens._

_Grasp the helm fast in your hands; you have many allies in your city._

_Now your statues are standing and pouring sweat._

_They shiver with dread._

_The black blood drips from the highest rooftops._

_They have seen the necessity of evil._

_Get out! Get out of my sanctum and drown your spirits in woe._

_Sure though thy feet, proud Sparta, have a care,_

_A lame king’s reign may see thee trip—Beware!_

_Troubles unlooked for long shall vex thy shore,_

_And rolling Time his tide of carnage pour._

_With silver spears you may conquer the world._

_Make your own nature, not the advice of others, your guide in life._

_Your presence here outrages the god you seek._

_Go back, matricide! The number 73 marks the hour of your downfall!_

_Tell the emperor that my hall has fallen to the ground._

_Phoebus no longer has his house, nor his mantic bay,_

_Nor his prophetic spring; the water has dried up._

_Wine, gold, or blood; we all must choose what we fill our homes with._

_My patron commands it: find my siblings!_

_Do this and the future will be yours!_

_None can call you weak, yet you lack the qualities of real strength._

_Death has donned his blackest armour and armed himself with pestilence._

_So let the crows descend, to doctor and devour._

_The Empire, vast and rich, founds a new frontier._

_But this poor, hungry child shall rise up against their father._

_Make your strongest foundation now,_

_The house needs more builders._

_It will last to see many families._

_War breaks out anew, beckoned by the gods._

_Blood shall run till the plains turn red and the earth itself shall burn._

_Mortal and divine alike will fall to ruin in the strife._

_A Half-Blood of the Eldest Gods_

_Shall reach sixteen against all odds,_

_And see the world in endless sleep._

_The hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap,_

_A final choice shall end his days,_

_Olympus to preserve or raze._

_Soldier, artist, and thief with blade of Gorgon’s bane,_

_Return the Helm before the moon begins to wane._

_The ancient hunter stalks his prey_

_Under the darkest sky._

_Dragon's teeth in the ground must lay,_

_To make the old marksman die._

_Blinding sun and shining crescent,_

_When at camp the two are present,_

_March into the moving mine,_

_Following a child of wine,_

_Searching for the sea god’s sign._

_Join with monsters to find your way,_

_Meet the goddess with eyes of grey,_

_Destroy the beast in western bay._

_Trickster’s son, go to the garden of gloam,_

_Steal one apple, then return home._

_Avoid the guard, embrace who you are,_

_Or accept defeat and bear the scar._

_You shall sail the iron ship with warriors of bone,_

_You shall find what you seek and make it your own,_

_But despair for your life entombed within stone,_

_And fail without friends, to fly home alone._

_Five shall go west to the goddess in chains,_

_One shall be lost in the land without rain._

_The bane of Olympus shows the trail,_

_Campers and Hunters combined prevail._

_The Titan’s curse must one withstand,_

_And one shall perish by a parent’s hand._

_Seven half-bloods shall answer the call,_

_To storm or fire the world must fall,_

_An oath to keep with a final breath,_

_And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death._

Apollo had said that I needed to rest, but I suppose the Oracle had other ideas. I want you to imagine a fanatical new friend trying to catch you up on a millenia-long box set in time to watch the thousandth season, where each episode features its own prophecy as well as a relevant plague, war, or suicidal quest. Now, whatever it is you’re picturing, make it _worse_. There was no warning, no cautioning notice of flashing lights or loud noises, just that blaring marathon of visions.

It lasted two days.

The room I woke in was unfamiliar to me. It was small, modest, with a single hospital bed and plain yellow walls; the left wall bore a window with off-white blinds, drawn for privacy, and a solid spruce door opposite. I pushed off the bedcovers. Some of the paint from my jeans had flaked off onto the sheets, leaving rainbow shards. Standing, I wobbled over to lean on the windowsill and tugged the blinds open to a… strange place.

It was alien, but disguised as ordinary; if you only skimmed the image you could believe it was normal. But when you looked again you would notice the lava cascading down the climbing frame, the feathered wings upon the horses, the beastial silhouettes moving within the forest edge—a second layer of unreal reality.

The floorboard beyond the door creaked, and a girl shouldered it open, tearing off a pair of stained nitrile gloves.

“—deal with Travis, he’s _ruined_ all my wonderful stitching, _again_.” She turned to me, revealing a pale, freckled face. “Oh, you’re awake— _finally_! What are you doing?”

“Just...” I gestured vaguely outside, still stunned by her striking hair; gingery dyed with acid green. She raised her eyebrows, breathed a half-sigh-half-chuckle.

“Yeah, that must be _a lot_. I remember how it felt when I first arrived, and I wasn’t possessed by the Oracle.” The girl pulled a folder from the bed, flipped through it. “Hmm. You seem to be fine, beyond the two-day coma and night terrors.”

“Two days?” I rubbed sleep from my eyes and pulled a hand through my hair. It tugged at my scalp, unruly as ever. “Sorry, um, who are you?”

She glanced up, tutted to herself. “Right, I’m Kayla, daughter of Apollo, junior medic at the Camp Half-Blood Infirmary. And… I should have said that earlier—Will’s always on my back about my bedside manner.”

“It’s fine,” I tried for a smile. Kayla went straight back to the notes, snapped them shut, and clipped them back onto the footboard.

“I need to get back to the ward, so you just wait here and I’ll send Will in for a final check-up, then he’ll discharge you. We need the bed.” The door slammed behind her.

I blinked. Kayla couldn’t have been older than twelve, yet she breezed in and out like a practiced doctor. Outside, I could see more children tending to forges and sparring. Minutes later, a blonde boy—Will, I supposed—stepped in.

“Hi,” He said, “I’m Will, son of Apollo, senior medic.” A mild southern accent. Texas?

“I’m Rachel.” He nodded understandingly, as if I’d said something profoundly wise, and rolled a stool out from under the desk, sitting and gesturing towards the bed.

“Well Rachel, how are you feeling?” He rolled over to the folder of notes, and skimmed them, just as Kayla had done. “Kayla tells me you feel well enough to be discharged, but I think she just wants you out.”

I frowned. “Does she not like me or something?”

“No, it’s just…” He pinched his brow. “Since the battle we’ve been understaffed and overfull. Even with the emergency tents outside, we’ve had more injured demigods than beds. And Kayla’s only young. She found your condition boring—her words—and unimportant, but I insisted that we keep you in a bed. We’ve lost a lot of people, and we’re all at the end of our rope, so she’s been eager to discharge you and get a higher priority case in but… It’s not that she doesn’t like you, it’s just not a good time.” He half-chuckled at himself. “Sorry, I don’t mean to rant at you about it.”

“Oh.” Guilt coiled in my stomach. “Well, I think I’m fine now. Just hungry.”

“Hmm. Well, let me take your temperature and check your pupils. You were feverish while you slept. Lift up your tongue, please.” Will pulled a thermometer from the bedside drawer and placed it in my mouth. A moment later, he read it at 35.8⁰C. Then he shone a torch in each of my eyes, and, seemingly satisfied, scribbled something down in the notes before allowing me to leave. “Go to the Dining Pavilion or the Demeter Cabin, they’ll have food. And if you want a change of clothes, I’m sure the Hermes Cabin will have some spares—they’re basically our lost-and-found corner of Camp—or if you’re feeling brave, you _could_ try the Aphrodite Cabin. Now, I have plenty of patients to keep me busy, so...”

✱ ✱ ✱

The rest of the Infirmary was a hurricane. The beds had been pushed so close together it’s a wonder the medics could fit reach their patients’ sides and in the central aisle’s remaining space, people were constantly moving past each other, like a river flowing both ways. I didn’t so much exit as I was expelled from the building, which I then recognised as the Big House—huge and painted sky-blue, just as had Percy described. Even out here there were more casualties, lying under gazebos draped with mosquito nets, or triaged on the deck.

“Coming through!” A trio of campers, one with a spearhead in his leg being carried by another bridal-style, and the third clutching a nasty gash upon her arm, rushed the entrance, sending me stumbling onto the deck. I shuffled past wounded teenagers reclining on picnic chairs, towards the front of the house. Some of them nodded at me in greeting, most said nothing. One young girl with a bandaged leg waved shyly and told me she liked my hair. I could only smile back, and wonder how much she must have been through.

“Miss Dare!” Chiron’s voice reached me through my thoughts. At the front of the veranda, Chiron—in a wheelchair—sat with a clipboard and a hand of cards opposite a grumpy-looking man in a leopard-print shirt.

“I trust your sleep was, ah, eventful?” Chiron gestured towards a spare seat. As I took it, the leopard-man mumbled something low and incoherent. Chiron scowled briefly.

“You could say that. Does every host see those visions?”

“From what I know, yes. And each time the spirit moves on, they only get longer. More prophecies to recite, you see.”

The leopard muttered something again, louder this time—something about ponies and introductions. Chiron pursed his lips, then sighed.

“Miss Dare—”

“Rachel is fine.”

“Rachel,” he conceded, “This is Mr. D, the Camp Director. Mr. D, this is Rachel Elizabeth Dare, the new Oracle of Delphi.”

Mr. D seemed to perk up, smiled a smile too broad to be genuine and said in a voice too gleeful to be happy: “A pleasure to meet you, and here’s too sending many more heroes to their inevitable, yet pitiful deaths.” He raised a champagne flute that hadn’t been at his hand a moment ago—as it touched his lips, the drink turned to a bubbling black. His expression soured once more, he set down the still-full glass, and returned to grumbling at his cards.

“It’s, uh… Nice to meet you too?” Rachel cringed as she made it sound like a question. Percy had told her a lot about Mr. D but she was suddenly struggling to recall anything nice he had had to say about the god.

“Yes...” Chiron glared at Mr. D, “In any case, Miss—apologies, Rachel, we are glad to have you here, and since it may not have been formally said yet,” Chiron put down his cards to shake my hand, and Mr. D peeked across the table at them, “Welcome to Camp Half-Blood!”

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is purely a work of fanfiction. The universe and characters belong to the wonderful writer, Uncle Rick.  
> DISCLAIMER 2 ELECTRIC BOOGALOO: I already know that I'm never going to stick to a schedule for uploading chapters because I have too much chaotic gay energy in my life, so if I don't update for a while: don't worry! I haven't abandoned it.  
> DISCLAIMER 3 BACK IN THE HABIT: This fanfic will not be Perachel (Percabeth all the way) because I don't ship Rachel with anyone (not even Reyna). She doesn't need romance, she's fabulous enough by herself.  
> DISCLAIMER 4 THIS TIME IT'S PERSONAL: Many of those prophecies are 'real' (as real as they can be) recorded statements from the actual Oracle. Some of them I made up myself. Some of them you may recognise as applying to particular heroes.


End file.
